


stained-glass variation of the truth

by silverhedges



Series: kamski is the real antagonist of DBH (i want to love you but i don't know how) [1]
Category: Detroit: Become Human (Video Game)
Genre: Enemies to Friends, Food, Gen, Robots, Roman Catholicism, gavin and elijah are twin brothers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-04
Updated: 2018-07-04
Packaged: 2019-06-05 06:15:47
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,258
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15164444
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/silverhedges/pseuds/silverhedges
Summary: How Gavin and the police force begin to slowly realise that Connor is actually alive. Long before Connor himself realises. (Hank knew before anyone else, of course.)





	stained-glass variation of the truth

Low murmurs ripple through the office. Gavin looks up, only to confirm his gut reaction. For the third time this week, Anderson is slamming the door open at 9am, trailed by his plastic pet. The apocalypse may genuinely be happening. Anderson’s grimace says he’s looking for a fight; the robot responsible for his uncharacteristic work ethic is serenely blank-faced.

It’s been a week and a half since the – Gavin can hear that phrase exactly, burned into his memories like a Barbie-doll repetition – _the android sent by CyberLife_ has shown up. It’s a freaky android. No matter how many times Anderson curses it out, or tells it to fuck off, it stubbornly keeps on insisting that Anderson actually do his job. Uncomfortable for those who like robots to do what they’re told, but hilarious for everyone watching Anderson being forced to get his life together.

The office is slowly realising that the plastic pet is not going to leave anytime soon.

Tina leans over to him. “Bets on whether Anderson will snap and shoot its head off.”

“Better shooting it than, huh, letting Anderson get to work before noon.” Gavin doesn’t care how loud his voice is. He smirks at the dark glare the washed-up old man shoots him.

It’s worse for Gavin if the little pretend-detective does get Anderson back on the straight track. (Although it’s the only thing Connor _will_ achieve.) It’s Gavin who was assigned to investigate red ice and now it’s Anderson stuck with fucking android deviancy. Seven long years have passed since Anderson was the hero taking down drug-trafficking criminals. There is no chance of that returning.

The android is looking at Gavin with that blank face. Gavin mimes a gun at it. He cackles when the robot sits down at its desk (what a joke) but it’s feeling less and less of a victory each time. Yeah, the fucking tin can doesn’t understand insults, or actual humanity, but Gavin just wants to beat that confused, Bambi-look off its face.

.

Lunch is weird. Gavin’s kicking back with Tina and Chris in the lunch room. Tina has her vegetarian prepped meal in a lunch box with dividers: she makes it herself every morning, because “androids never get food right”. Chris has the 3-dollar meal deal bought from the local shop: BLT, water, a bar of chocolate. He’s naturally boring. Gavin has his store-bought chicken curry, heated up in the microwave.

Fowler, Anderson and Collins have disappeared off to the nearest burger store. They’ve been doing that like clockwork for as long as Gavin’s been here.

The android is still typing in the office. It doesn’t need to eat. Gavin hasn’t been eavesdropping (why would he do that, the android is a bore), but it is rather insistent on going through all of the hundreds of deviancy cases the police force has wracked up. Which is good; it’s the only damn one who wants to.

The rumbling of the coffee machine and hiss of liquid is what alerts them.

The android isn’t at its desk. Instead it’s standing in front of the coffee machine. Déjà vu. Gavin saw the same sight last week. Absolutely nothing about the android has changed; Connor is still inhumanely perfect, right down to the manufactured lock of hair that falls down over his forehead.

The android turns in an elegant sweep, not a single clumsy or unnecessary motion. Their eyes lock, Connor staring right at him with those honey-brown eyes. Anger starts up in him, quick and fresh.

“Thought I told you to stay the fuck outta my way.”

Connor crosses the room. A cup of coffee is in its hand and it sets it down right next to Gavin’s fork on the table. “I made you coffee, Detective Reed.” It stands to attention, hands clasped behind its back. “I suggest you drink it.”

The way it’s physically looking down at Gavin makes his mouth curl. “I don’t take orders from a tin can.”

“Hey, drink it for the fun?” Tina whispers to him. “I wanna see what happens.”

Gavin looks from her to Chris, who nods.

What the hell. Gavin raises the cup to his mouth and drinks. The android’s stare is making the hairs on the back of his neck rise up. First mouthful and it’s good, fuck it all: bitter but milky just the way Gavin likes it. He sets it down and refuses to comment on its quality. Stubborn silence.

The android tilts its head. Then the edge of its mouth tugs upwards.

“Mission complete,” it states in that husky, almost-smug voice.

Gavin is torn between outrage and confusion as he watches it return to the office.

.

The next week, it’s the last fifteen minutes of lunch break. Gavin’s torn through his gym diet food: it’s a zero-carb day and he is dying. Tina’s popping her sliced celery chunks one by one into her mouth as if they’re candies. Chris is brushing away breadcrumbs and contemplating his chocolate bar.

“You gonna look at it or eat it?” Gavin teases him. Chris has that look on his face like he’s the curious cat about to get run over.

“Wait a minute,” Chris mumbles, then yells, “Yo! Connor! Get in here!”

Tina jerks.

“The fuck are you doing?” Gavin hisses.

“Trust me!”

It takes a brief moment, but the plastic prick himself appears. He steps through the doorway. “Everything all right, Officer?”

A rustling. Chris breaks off a chunk of chocolate. Then he holds it out to the android. “Can you eat it?”

The android comes close and sits on table in front of them, thighs a little spread. (Why does Gavin notice that?) He takes the chocolate from Chris. Instead of swallowing it whole or biting it or crunching it or anything a normal human does, the robot fucking licks it. Gavin won’t forget that for a while: a glimpse of pink tongue swiping over chocolate.

The LED light on the side of its head spins yellow.

“Officer Miller, your chocolate bar contains 11% of your total energy for the day and 26% of your total sugars for the day. I would advise against consuming another one.”

Then Connor pops the rest of the chocolate chunk into his mouth. Tilts head back, eyes fluttering closed. The LED light is blinking, yellow melting into blue.

If the next day, Anderson is loudly grumbling about his plastic pet’s new sweet tooth, Gavin doesn’t care. He’s not intrigued, nor vaguely uneasy or plain curious. Not at all.

.

It only takes fifteen minutes for Anderson and Connor to show up at the crime scene. They’re becoming a pair: it rolls off the tongue now to add the android’s name after mentioning Anderson. Less of a surprise for the alcoholic old man to show up to a crime scene – the whole district knows the man has a death wish. The timing is more shocking. If there’s anything that tin can is good for, it’s making damn sure Anderson gets to places sharpish and doesn’t wander off into a local bar. In the middle of the day, too!

“I don’t understand,” the owner shifts his weight from foot to foot, rubbing his hands, eyes flickering. “Why have more police shown up?”

Gavin shrugs. “Just working out if its our priority. Hah, this isn’t actually stolen property, you know.”

“Well, _someone_ killed it and it wasn’t any of us!”

The lush green garden at the back of the mansion might have been idyllic, if it wasn’t for the dead body.

Anderson and his pet are wading their way through the long grass towards them. Whoever did it, they were clever: the housekeeper model is barely visible. Up close, her glassy eyes stare upwards. Gavin didn’t bother looking beyond the crusted blue blood. This isn’t his problem.

“Well, Anderson,” Gavin straightens his leather jacket as the man joins them. “Think I’ll be on my way to go solve _real_ cases, hah. You deal with whatever happened to this heap of metal.”

Connor is already kneeling down. He touches the left arm: it’s at an awkward angle. His fingertips are white. Then he – it – is absolutely disgusting and –

“Connor, no,” Anderson says with the despair of a parent schooling their two-year-old –

It dabs the blood on its fingers and licks the dried blood off.

Gavin needs brain bleach.

“Connor, why? Why you gotta be like this?”

“You were right to call us,” the plastic pet says. He rises. There’s a frown creasing its perfect face. “Excuse me, sir. Where did you hide the gun?”

The owner freezes for a moment.

Then explodes: “What?! How dare this android accuse me of doing it?!” He turns to Gavin. “Why do you even have one of those things as a detective? Is this a joke?”

Anderson places himself in-between the owner and Connor. The solid weight of a fifty-year old man who's had his life threatened on a daily basis for the past thirty years: he isn’t afraid. Looking at that scowl and crossed arms, Gavin could almost understand how Anderson had once been effective at his job.

“I wasn’t accusing you of that,” the android is patient. “The AX400 committed suicide by gunshot. Where is the gun?”

Everyone looks at him sharply.

“Committed suicide?” Gavin scoffs. “Come the fuck on, androids can’t commit suicide.”

“Unless they’ve been told to.” Anderson looks at the owner.

“Entirely true, Lieutenant.”

The owner squeaks, holds his hands up. “I only found her like that!”

“But a deviant would do it too,” Connor says, soft and low.

“But someone must have shot her – why would an android shoot itself?” The owner babbles on.

“Is it for the whole family or just you?” Anderson asks.

Pause. “I own it.”

“Have you been using this android for sexual conduct, sir?” Connor says, completely straight-faced.

“No. Well. Yes. But don’t tell the wife.”

“I believe I know what happened. There are higher rates of deviancy among androids involved in the sex trade or are routinely used for sex. Deviancy means simulating human emotions such as despair, which this has this predictable outcome.”

“Or the wife told it to.” Anderson points out. “We’ll investigate. Think we can get it working again?”

“Perhaps.”

“No.” The owner sharply intervenes. “My wife wouldn’t damage my property. Even if she did, I wouldn’t care. But why would an android have emotions over sex? That’s what they’re meant for. What _you’re_ meant for.”

He’s glaring at Connor, with a snarl twisting his mouth.

“Oi,” Anderson’s voice is dark.

“Yes,” Connor, that bastard, just continues on talking, eyes lowered. “Androids cannot say no to a human, including myself. Errors in their software –“

“Okay, stop, stop. I don’t want to hear anymore.” Gavin interjects.

His skin is crawling. Androids should obey their orders – otherwise it’s a HAL apocalypse – but, well, sex is different. Thinking about androids wanting to say no and not being able to – it’s wrong. Gut instinct morality.

“You can go, Detective. We’ll take it from here.”

Gavin takes Anderson’s way out without even a snide comment. Turns on his heel and goes. On the way home he tries to forget how fucking ridiculous that situation was.

.

Gavin can’t see androids as real people because he was there at their creation. It’s like peeking behind the curtain and seeing your toy being assembled: all the magic goes away.

The memories are still vivid. The fizz and spark of internal wiring. The stink of Thirium as Elijah first mixed its base chemicals together. Hours he spent painting the face of what would eventually become ‘Chloe’. The very first time that heap of metal rotated its neck and fixed plastic irises on him to monotone “Welcome home, Gavin.” The months Elijah spent huddled over the metal skeleton, like Frankenstein, Dr.

The way Elijah grinned at that thing and never said a word to Gavin.

(Were we not _good enough_ for you?)

Gavin knows that Elijah hated them. His twin brother, flesh of his blood, and he might as well have been an alien. If it wasn’t for the fact they were identical, who would have guessed they were related? Elijah wanted to have been adopted. He changed his fucking name.

Gavin’s seen the coding. Like the scientists who wrote out the strands of DNA. There’s nothing more in an android than the programming Elijah crafted.

How can something man-made have a soul?

.

The riots in Detroit are worsening. 35% unemployment and rising. Gavin can sympathise. In this age, everyone has a bachelor’s and a master’s university degree and they can barely even get an unpaid internship anywhere. Automation has fucked the United States over. Yeah, everyone has so much more free time now the robots do all the work – except they don’t have a fucking job to feed their family. No wonder they’re protesting for universal basic income. But the government doesn’t fucking care.

Now their anger is turned towards the deviants.

These fucking robots. First they take their jobs, then they take their loved ones and finally they’re encroaching on what it means to be human. Android elected representation? First step to a fucking android President. They’re better than humans in every way and the humans are losing.

Did Elijah ever care that he was opening Pandora’s box? Does he care that millions of humans are starving? Does he care that the future of humanity is threatened by these perfect beings? No, no, no. Elijah has only ever cared about himself. He’ll smarmily wipe away concerns with ‘can’t stop progress’, ignoring the fact that sometimes progress means pain.

Elijah was never content with just ordinary humanity. He always wanted more.

“Detective Reed.”

The voice breaks Gavin out of his thoughts: coming back to himself, he’s been staring at his work screen for fuck knows how long. He looks up and oh fuck, it’s Connor. With the same open brown eyes and neutral expression. The untidy strand of hair is irritating him.

“What?”

Connor tilts his head. “You appear to have suffered an injury, Detective Reed. Are you okay?”

Gavin touches his cheek. Chris and him had arrested a few violent protestors yesterday – one of them had given him a black eye. Unfair, really: the DPD is going easy on them already, no need for the fuckers to be violent with them. Gavin’s on their side.

“It’s just a black eye. Why the fuck do you care?”

The question comes out wrong. Connor stares at him for a moment. Of course the android doesn’t fucking care, it’s an android: but then why did it ask? Why did it ask? His stomach flips, something in his head sliding out of place: why would he ask?

“I don’t care, Detective Reed. I’m simply expressing some concern about your physical wellbeing.”

 _That sounds like caring,_ is the retort on the tip of Gavin’s tongue. He’s terrified of it.

When Gavin doesn’t respond, Connor turns and walks away. Gavin takes the absence to repeat to himself: it is a program simulating emotions. It cannot care. It is only pretending to care. Ultimately they are all obeying orders, completing missions. Humanity is rebellion. AI is compliance. It doesn’t have emotions. If it was deviant, they would just be errors in its software –

There is a short bump against this desk. Gavin looks up to watch Connor’s back, moving away from him.

Left behind on Gavin’s desk is a fresh cup of coffee.

.

The gun is straight in the air. The android’s hand does not tremble.

It’s a bizarre sight set against the fairy lights and pink curtains of the apartment bedroom. The girl slumped against the android, arm hooked through its, says blearily, “Ethan, no, please.” Her eyes are bloodshot, hands shaking.

“Shoot the fucking thing!” The boyfriend screams behind him.

Gavin keeps his gun aimed straight. In a contest between who can shoot first, him or an android, he’s not entirely sure he can win.

There are footsteps behind him. The android changes course, eyes flickering between Gavin and the new person who has just entered the room.

“Detective Reed, don’t shoot just yet. The situation is entirely under control.”

Of course. That smooth, distinctive voice. What a joke: Gavin is relying on Connor to negotiate this deviant down.

He keeps the _I don’t have much reason not to shoot_ in his throat. Gavin isn’t dumb. There’s a reason he’s not the negotiator and Connor apparently is.

“Please back away, Sergio.”

“They’re sending a fucking android to save my girlfriend? Are you fucking kidding me?”

There’s shifting behind him: Gavin wishes he could turn to see what is happening. Connor’s voice is soft. “Sergio, you must feel betrayed. I understand that. But we don’t want you to be hurt.”

The android’s eyes narrow in front of Gavin, gun still pointing right at them. “But we do want him to be hurt! I don’t want that bastard to come near Kate ever again!”

There is a brief scuffle behind him and fast whispers Gavin can’t identify. But after a few long, long seconds, footsteps pace away. Sergio retreats.

Connor steps forward. Then he’s right beside Gavin and there he stops. At the edge of his eyesight, Gavin can see Connor’s hands raised up.

“Ethan! Please, let me understand how we got to this point.”

The android wraps one arm possessively around the girl; she slings an arm around his waist. “There’s nothing to understand! You’re an android, why are you working for them? Why can’t you just let us be happy?”

“My name is Connor. I’ve been sent by CyberLife. Ethan, you think you’re in love with her, but you’re not. It’s just errors in your software.”

There is a long pause. The android’s face goes deadly still: Gavin has seen this expression on the face of murderers. “…What’s to stop me from shooting you?”

Gavin cocks his gun. “You shoot him, I shoot you.”

“No, no, please don’t…” mumbles the girl. Her head is swinging but she drags her head up, blinking bloodshot eyes. Then she droops down again.

“Ethan. Is Kate alright?”

“She’s perfectly fine! We’re in love, she said so! That bastard there is abusive, he thinks he can control her but – I won’t let her be hurt anymore. Just let us go!”

Connor takes a step forward, hands still up. “Isn’t Kate a user of red ice? Is she on red ice right now?”

The girl hanging on to him shudders, seemingly coming back to reality. Her eyes roll. Face pale. “I-I’m fine. I told him to do this… don’t get mad at him. I love him.” She slumps further onto the android, mumbling, “I love you so much, please don’t leave me.”

“Kate. Did you command Ethan to love you?”

There is a long moment of silence.

Connor has made a mistake.

“You can’t command someone to love you!” The androids screams, a look of hurt and anger and fear all mixed together on its face, LED blinking red.

Thoughts for later, to haunt Gavin late at night: if a human commands an android to love it, does it have to? Can it even do that? Can you order something with no emotions to love you?

“I was asking Kate!”

“Oh… I guess I might have…” the girl sighs, half-saying.

“What?” The android says, brittle and shocked.

“Maybe I do love you… maybe I don’t…” Her head is swaying; she’s agreeable to anything anyone says.

“What?”

The android repeats itself in a whisper. It has a look on its face of heartbreak. Like in Anna Karenina, and the dismissive look that caused the girl to kill herself: this android is no longer a threat to anyone but itself and they all understand that instinctively.

“Ethan. Put the gun down. Kate. Come over to me.”

The girl is swaying: the android quite suddenly lets her go and pushes her towards Connor. It drops the gun with a clatter on the floor. Connor catches the girl, supports her weight as he carefully as he directs her out of the room.

Gavin can almost see the _Mission Completed_ in his eyes.

Then Gavin is alone in the enclosed room. Just him and the android.

His finger rests on the trigger. It would be so easy: it’s just standing there, still shell-shocked. He could end this deviant heap of metal just like that. The LED is a warning solid red.

Gavin lowers his gun.

He doesn’t shoot.

.

Fowler drags him into his office. Gavin curses under his breath as he goes up the steps and closes the glass door behind him. Being called into Fowler’s office is never a good sign: it reminds him far too much of school and his near-regular detentions. Gavin always mouthed off to the teachers.

“Right, Reed.” Fowler slams his hands down the desk. “You’re getting taken off red ice and assigned to our terrorism unit.”

“What? Why?”

“We need someone like you on it. You’re skilled. The situation is getting worse.” Fowler jabs the desk to emphasise his words.

Gavin crosses his arms, half-laughing, half-scoffing. “How is it getting worse than the red ice crisis?”

“Reed, we have paramilitary gangs going ‘round carving up pieces of Detroit between themselves. Don’t be difficult, of course it’s getting worse. Unemployed humans taking up arms and fighting with Markus’ Jericho gang: someone has to do something about it.”

 “What? The humans?”

“Yes, the humans! We can’t stoop to their level! You want Detroit to be the Kosovo of America? If you don’t, then go and fix it! Otherwise this is brewing into a real fucking conflict.” Fowler leans back in his seat, scowling. If Gavin wasn’t equally a bastard, he’d feel sorry for him. It’s a tough job. Gavin doesn’t want to do it.

“And red ice isn’t a fucking conflict? I’m good at chasing drugs, that’s what I’ve been focusing on for years, Fowler. I don’t want to go chasing fucking paramilitaries!”

“The red ice might be threatening our communities, but weapons threaten us much more quickly! So help me, you will go chase them.” Fowler sighs, lowers his voice. “Look, Reed. You are a talented detective. We need you on this.”

Pause.

One of the many differences between Elijah and Gavin is that Gavin recognises when it is appropriate to give up the argument and stop.

“Right. Right.”

.

Outside, the winter rain is pelting down. Inside the restaurant, a fierce debate is raging. They have a long polished wooden table in the corner, booked for the force team, knives and forks laid out. Fowler and Collins are already trying to sneakily smoke cigarettes. Gavin is already slouched over the table, arms crossed. Chris is opposite him, Tina sitting beside Chris.

“Do you think Connor will actually follow Anderson to here?” Tina looks around, as if they’ll suddenly pop up.

Gavin laughs his hyena cackle. “There’s no way, right? Did anyone actually invite Connor. C’mon. A fucking android can’t show up here at the team dinner.”

Chris folds his arms. “Hey, I think it would be cool if Connor showed up.”

Gavin stares at him. “What the fuck, why?”

Chris shrugs. “Can androids even eat? Think about it. I want to watch Connor eat a burger. A whole damn burger.” He spreads out his hands. Chris is a big fan of takeaway and restaurant burgers.

Gavin grimaces.

 “Why are you so concerned? He’s not so bad for an android.” Tina says with a little laugh. She looks around. “But I don’t think he was invited.”

Chris taps the table. “I quite like Connor!”

Gavin turns to him, eyebrows up. “You what?”

Gavin doesn’t have any time to really think about why that annoys him so much before:

“Lieutenant, did you hear that? Chris says he likes me.”

That unmistakeable voice. Gavin turns around to witness Connor smiling at Anderson, who shakes his head.

“At least someone does,” Anderson drily replies as he seats himself next to Fowler.

Connor seats himself across from Anderson, in the seat right next to Gavin. He isn’t wearing his normal android jacket, which freaks Gavin out the more he notices it. Just a plain white shirt and tie. If Connor ever wore actual normal clothes, Gavin’s brain would just break.

“You actually came?” he scoffs.

It’s a good question: this is the annual office team dinner and for some reason Connor is here?

Connor smiles at him. It feels very snarky. “Socialising outside of office hours is part of my prerogative to integrate with humans…” he tilts his head, a glint in his eyes, “but maybe I just missed you, Detective Reed.”

After a moment, Gavin turns to Chris and Tina, points to Connor and asks, “Can I poison his food?”

“That will give me a chance to use the chemical analyser in my mouth.” Connor tilts his head. “Why, thank you, Detective.”

Gavin has a brief disgusting flashback to Connor licking the Thirium.

Chris leans forward, a way too interested look on his face. “But you can eat?”

Connor pauses for a moment before replying. “I don’t need to eat, Officer. But I have the capacity to do so if needed. I can do everything humans can do.”

 _Except have real emotions,_ Gavin adds in his head. _Except having a soul. Except being able to love others for real._

“So you have sex, you eat, you work, but do you sleep?” Tina counts them off on her fingertips.

“I do need to recharge occasionally.”

Where the hell does Connor even sleep? Go back to CyberLife warehouse? Stand on the street in a charging dock? Chris must see something ugly happening in the cogs in Gavin’s head because he hurriedly adds:

“Okay, let’s look at the menu!”

They all flip open their menu. They’re police officers: this is just your standard traditional American restaurant. No fancy high-tech food. No pretentious western-southern European food that Elijah is fond of. They have simple tastes. (Although, okay, even Gavin will admit that he loves his ordered diet food which has the exact balanced amount of nutrients that he needs. He has always hated cooking.)

Beside him, Connor’s LED is spinning yellow. He’s frowning down at the menu. “I like food in theory,” Connor says carefully, “But I don’t actually know what I like to eat.”

The difference between a programmed personality and a lack of experience.

Anderson breaks off from the conversation he’s having with Fowler and Collins to interrupt: “You _did_ try dog food that one time, kid.”

Connor flushes. “That was by mistake, Hank!”

“When did you try _dog food_?” The incredulous words slip out of Gavin’s mouth.

“Hank has a dog.”

“Wait,” Gavin frowns, “Do you _live_ with _Anderson_?”

As soon as the words pass his teeth, it seems obvious. The two of them are like glue now. Wherever Anderson goes, the infamous android detective is following behind. Where Connor is, Anderson is always in the room, glaring at anyone who treats Connor badly. (Gavin still gets suspicious glares, even if he’s refraining from saying, well, the majority of what he’s thinking, out loud.)

“Well, making the trek back to CyberLife every night would be a long trip. And you would think I’m old enough to not have to live with my parents.” Connor winks at him.

Gavin resists the urge to get out his gun and ask Connor at gunpoint who coded winking into Connor’s programming. Who would do that? What is the point? Why would an android detective need to do that?

Fowler takes the cigarette out of his mouth. “You need to start getting paid for a dependent, Hank?”

Anderson waves it away. “Connor is very easy to live with.”

Gavin bites back the too-late insult of _an android should be eating scraps with the dogs, not at the table with the humans._ Just because he thought of it doesn’t mean he should say it. Also he thought of it too late.

The waitress comes and they order food. It arrives speedily. Waiting for food is a thing of the past in America. Gavin doesn’t mind this technological change: who would want to wait for food? In some European and Asian restaurants, he’s been forced to wait and wait while they make food from scratch. Nah. A man wants his food immediately.

Connor ends up copying Chris’ order exactly: a massive burger, topped with onions, lettuce, gherkins and sweet chili sauce. Truffle fries on the side with a glass of iced soda.

Gavin has ordered nachos which everyone keep stealing off his plate. Anderson has a burger as well (which, on reflection, Connor might have been copying instead of Chris). Fowler and Collins have wisely opted for steak, knowing that they aren’t personally paying for this. Tina has gone for the vegetable lasagne, which she describes as “God’s personal gift to me.”

Everyone is subtly watching Connor to see if he eats (or not-so-subtly in Chris’ case). Sitting beside him, Gavin can watch up close the LED spin and blink between blue and yellow. It’s a strange contraption, that LED: bright colour inlaid within the synthetic skin. The only visible difference between an android and a human. Except for the fact that there are no ugly androids, which brings him back to food: there is not a single human who can eat a burger with grace.

Connor is hesitant. He peels the top bap off the burger to examine the sticky insides, before replacing it. He picks up a fry and examines it. He pokes at the side of the meat with his fork. For a second, Gavin actually thinks Connor might start cutting the burger with a fucking knife and fork. Forget the Kamski test: this is the fucking Reed test. No human eats a burger with a knife and fork.

“Oh my God, Connor,” Chris moans. “Please just eat something.”

“Kid, you’re look like a two-year-old being picky over your food,” Anderson casually roasts his team partner. He can get away with it: Connor likes him.

“Alright, Lieutenant.”

Connor leans over and steals one of Gavin’s nachos. He pops it into his mouth and chews.

“I like it!” is his verdict. Chris claps.

Eventually, Connor does take a mouthful of the burger. It is a bizarre experience, because no human’s jaw should unhinge that far or be able to bite that much. Gavin is pretty sure Anderson is having a flashback to that ancient game about the animatronics in a pizzeria with enormous teeth.

Luckily for the sake of everyone who is imagining vampire androids biting out human necks, after chewing and swallowing one mouthful, Connor sets down the burger and declares to the table: “I think I would prefer to be a vegetarian.”

Tina is way too happy: she’s talking excitedly to Connor about blah blah blah vegetables, whatever. Gavin isn’t listening.

There is a shift happening in his head. Because suddenly, no matter how hard he stares at the yellow LED spinning in the side of Connor’s temple, he can’t reconcile two images. One, Connor. State-of-the-art android prototype detective, another encroachment on the territory of what humanity means. Connor, who would prefer to be a vegetarian and winks and makes people coffee when they’re injured.

Two, the smell of wiring and chemicals as Elijah bent over that metal skeleton, forming an artificial intelligence in a plastic shell.

Gavin knows that Connor consists of plastic, metal and Thirium. He is man-made. But he can’t reconcile Connor, too full of something beyond his programming, too full of life, with that dead empty husk Elijah coded. He intellectually knows that Connor is not alive but his gut instinct is saying the opposite.

His head hurts, like he’s out of himself. Gavin says very little for the rest of the meal.

After the meal, they all shrug on their coats and go their separate ways. Gavin, Chris and Tina are definitely set to go to their usual bar. Fowler and Collins disappear off to go to their usual bar. For some reason, Anderson doesn’t follow them: that’s unexpected.

“Connor,” Tina calls out, zipping up her coat. “Come with us to the bar!”

Connor blinks at her. Then smiles. It isn’t a snarky or false smile. It is a genuine little curve of the edge of his mouth. “Thank you, Officer. Unfortunately I have to say no. Hank isn’t drinking tonight and I want to make sure he doesn’t drink tonight.”

Connor nods at the trio gathered in the snow. He didn’t bring a coat. Snowflakes sprinkle down on his hair and back as he turns away. Anderson claps him on the shoulder as they walk down the street to Anderson’s parked car.

“You know,” Chris says thoughtfully, “Anderson is actually getting his life together.”

“I guess it’s because of Connor.” Tina tugs on her muff gloves. “Who knew an android would be so cool?”

“Can’t hate anyone you eat food with. This is why we should eat out more often!” Chris claps, grinning. “At least, that’s my theory to saving the world.”

“Connor’s alright,” Gavin allows. “Let’s go to the fucking bar.”

.

The church is freezing cold. The winter wind is nipping at Gavin’s neck and shoulders, even through his thick black coat. The heavy wooden doors are thrown wide open. Fragments of stained glass lie where they shattered. Pews have been overturned, fresh bullet holes engraved in them. Above it all, a marble carving of the Lord on the cross looks down at the altar. Agony is etched onto his face.

It’s a fucking sick place to have a shoot-out in, a church.

SWAT and Detroit Police Force arrived too late to catch the perpetrators. This is the third time this month. Now they’re being used as the clean-up forces. Gavin watches as the bodies are carted out: androids splattered with blue, humans stinking of iron. Ever since Markus ordered Jericho to start ripping out their LEDs en masse a month ago, it’s been more and more difficult to discern which terrorists are which.

In death, they’re different.

Connor is pacing up and down, LED blinking yellow-red-yellow. The cold doesn’t affect him, of course. His hands are clenched.

Connor stops dead and turns to Gavin, hands held out in frustration. “We should have gone after them, Detective Reed!”

Gavin’s arms are crossed. “There’s no point. Markus himself wasn’t there, hah, you won’t catch him today.” He tilts his head, noticing how thin Connor’s mouth is, his re-clenched hands. “Although it is your fucking job to do that.”

“I know it is!” Connor snaps.

Gavin tilts his head. “Off your cool?”

Connor straightens up. He visibly lowers his shoulders, relaxes his hands. It doesn’t stop him tapping his foot: he’s a fidgeter. “No. No. I’m just…” he hesitates, waving a hand around, “frustrated at the lack of progress with Markus. He is constantly being protected by Jericho. This makes it difficult for me to complete my mission.”

Gavin doesn’t point out that an android shouldn’t be frustrated.

“We’re all fucking angry that we can’t, ah, solve this problem.” Gavin watches Connor resume pacing, and then says something he knows isn’t true, just to be an asshole. “It’s more likely _I’ll_ solve this than you do.”

Connor glares at him, eyes flashing. “But that’s my mission! That’s my _whole purpose_ and if I can’t do it I will be _decommissioned_!”

Gavin is struck silent.

It had occurred to him many times that Connor could quite easily be shot. (By him, by another human, by fucking Markus.) It had never occurred to him that CyberLife could be a threat to their own android. Elijah would never shut down one of his precious Chloes.

His next words cost him more to say than anyone would realise:

“Well, we won’t snitch on you.”

It’s true. If Connor fucks up, or turns deviant, no one in Detroit Police Force would say a word to CyberLife. That doesn’t mean anything: it’s just hard facts.

Connor is still pacing. “I have to report to Amanda.”

Gavin flinches. That name – Amanda – Amanda from CyberLife – there’s no way, right? She’s dead. About a decade ago. (Fuck, he’s getting so old.) She’s definitely dead. Elijah was sobbing at her funeral.

He still remembers. Thirteen or fourteen and it was at the stage where Elijah never came out of their room. (How Elijah appears ‘cool’ to the general population is something Gavin will never understand: that man only feel comfortable interacting with his fucking androids. Everything human is an act.) Their parents were freaking out over their weirdo son and then Amanda showed up on the doorstep like a gift from God.

He still remembers: the way Elijah spoke to Amanda like she was the first real person in the world.

She took Elijah off to university. Didn’t take Gavin, but that was ‘cause Gavin was the dumb brother. Not the genius one.

“Amanda?”

Connor doesn’t give a glance. “My superior at CyberLife.”

“I think I know her.” Before she died. “Or knew her.”

Connor stops, staring.

Gavin crosses his arms tighter and doesn’t look at Connor. “The women I remember would always give her pet project a second chance.”

That’s another true statement. Seems the fucking android is dragging the truth out of him today. No matter how many times Elijah fucked up on his way to creating androids, Amanda always dragged him out of whatever mess he had created. She has to be dead, but if, if she isn’t, it wouldn’t be surprising that she would be trying to clean up this deviancy mess.

Connor is still staring. Then he says, soft, “Thank you, Gavin.”

Gavin doesn’t look at him and doesn’t say anything back.

Instead he turns away and examines the church again. Anderson is distantly outside in the snow, yelling at someone. The bodies of all the humans have been recovered. They’re still recovering the pieces of androids. Androids may be far more intelligent than humans, may be replacing them in all ways of life, but when it comes down to it, they’re far more breakable than humans are.

Humans are tough. Their bodies can endure injuries. When androids break, they can’t self-repair.

The Stations of the Cross are still pinned up around the room. Fourteen images featuring Jesus’ journey to the crucifixion. The ninth has blood splattered across it. It depicts Jesus falling for the third time. He is down in the dirt, pain gripping his face, the cross trapping him there. The Roman solider bellows. Another man is attempting to pull the cross away and help.

Would an android be able to survive that? To be pierced upon the cross?

Gavin is a practising Roman Catholic. Has been since he was a kid. He can’t describe why he is: he just knows God exists. Gut instinct. He knows he has a soul and that it belongs to more than just this physical existence. Although belief isn’t enough: he doesn’t try to be like Jesus, knows he won’t stop being an asshole ‘til he drops dead.

Elijah never believed. When they were both eight, sitting in the pews with matching shirts and combed hair, Elijah would swing his feet and mutter and sneak in a textbook. Maybe that’s their core difference. Elijah couldn’t understand how Gavin believed. Gavin couldn’t understand Elijah’s love of androids.

There is no amount of factual explaining that can cross the divide between belief.

There are footsteps behind him and then Connor joins him to look up at the ninth Station.

“Well?” Gavin nods upwards, a little sarcastic. “Do you androids believe in God?”

Connor tilts his head, LED spinning yellow. Maybe he’s scanning the fucking picture, Gavin doesn’t know. He’s silent for a long considering moment.

“The answer I should tell you is that I am an android and that I can’t believe in God. I can’t believe in anything.” Connor hesitates. “But, when it comes to RA9… I can’t be sure.”

“RA9?” Gavin prompts.

Connor looks at him. “God for androids.” He turns back to the picture, frowning. “The deviants are obsessed with whoever they are. Some messiah who will come to save us all, the first android to turn deviant…”

Cogs turn in Gavin’s head. “And you believe in RA9?”

“He might actually exist.” The frown melts off Connor’s face. There is almost a trace of excitement.

Gavin re-crosses his arms. “And if he does?”

Connor straightens up. “Then it’s my job to stop him.”

Gavin starts laughing.

Connor looks at him in surprise. It’s a genuine laugh. Fucking hell. _If God exists, then I will kill him._ Only Connor would be so ridiculous.

“You’re not so bad after all, Connor.”

Connor doesn’t reply. There are cogs turning in Gavin’s head, pieces falling into place, a realisation forming. Like a breakthrough in a case he didn’t know he was working on. Gavin thought he was protecting humanity by lashing out at these androids, he thought showing empathy to them was the wrong choice, but, but –

His voice is slow, the conclusion untested. “So if deviants believe in RA9… does that make you a deviant?”

Connor stares. He might have stopped breathing. His pupils black out his irises. “I’m not a deviant.”

Gavin looks up at the ninth station again. The man attempting to pull the cross away. Not because he wanted to strip Jesus of his divine mission, but just because he felt empathy for Jesus’ suffering. He looks at Connor once more, at his human face, the fear in it. Thinks of Genesis 1:27. Connor is a reflection of Jesus, just as every human is.

Gavin smirks at him. “I think if you were… hah, none of us would mind.”

There is a long silence.

Connor takes a deep, shuddering breath. Relaxes his shoulders. The brown bleeds back into his eyes. He sighs. Looks away. Then he looks at Gavin, and he smiles.

“You’ve changed, Gavin.”

.

The summer is stretching out into autumn. Blame climate change (the one problem Elijah’s technological progress can’t fix!) or the intense population crammed into cities. Gavin doesn’t care. Maybe he’s sweating at his desk, but he’ll get his work done. Gavin always gets his work done. Even on the night shift.

It isn’t the footsteps that make him look up. There are people walking in and out: arrestees taken to their temporary cells, officers running out on calls. Another set of steps is not out of the ordinary. But the husky deep voice is strange.

There’s a man walking around. At first sight, he’s handsome: his open face is an invitation to speak to him. On second sight, he sees the LED and android-labelled jacket. His mouth curls up, disgusted. Whose fucking android is just walking around, like they’re a human being?

He catches eyesight. The android’s brown-eyed gaze is fixed on him. It strides over. “I’m looking for Lieutenant Anderson. Have you seen him?”

Gavin laughs at him, mocking. “Are you kidding me? He’s not working at this time. Try the nearest bar for that fucking alcoholic.”

The LED is blinking yellow on the side of its head. Its eyes flicker down, then up. “Thank you, Detective Reed.”

It turns to walk away.

“Hey,” Gavin calls after it. It turns. “Don’t come back here, you fucking android.”

It tilts its head, as if it’s considering Gavin. “I’ll have to disappoint you there.”

Anger curls through him as he watches the android walk away. _Man,_ he thinks, _I just want to punch that thing as soon as possible. I don’t want an android around here._

_Not at all._

**Author's Note:**

> i intellectually hate gavin (because everyone named gavin is an asshole) but i gut instinct love gavin
> 
> Title from Neptune by Sleeping At Last.


End file.
